


Engine

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycles, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Justin's fingers are lingering against the bike, and he isn’t turning back to look at the chainsaw, and Giriko knows he has him." Giriko gets a motorcycle and Justin really likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engine

“It’s not that big of a deal, Giriko, honestly. I’ve driven a motorcycle before, you know.”

“You have  _not_.” Giriko is dragging Justin out of their apartment by his hold on the priest’s wrist, and Justin is letting him in spite of his token resistance and vocal protests. “You have been on a  _scooter_ , which is so different it’s not even in the same  _league_. Now shut up and admire.” He pulls the blond forward and shoves hard against his shoulders so Justin stumbles and half-turns to hiss in wordless irritation before twisting back around to properly admire Giriko’s newest possession.

It’s shining black in the sunlight, catching the light into reflective glints, and big enough that standing next to it Justin looks even more fragile than usual. Part of that is what he’s wearing -- Giriko dragged him straight off the couch without giving him time to collect either a jacket or shoes -- but most of it is the size of the bike itself, and the way Justin’s shoulders move when he reaches out to trail finger across the glossy finish, and the fact that, for once, the priest has absolutely nothing to say.

Giriko grins at Justin’s back and folds his arms over his chest. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

Justin hums with no coherent response, but his fingers are lingering against the bike, and he isn’t turning back to look at the chainsaw, and Giriko  _knows_  he has him.

“You want to ride it.” It’s not a question, and he draws the verb long and deliberately sexual so Justin half-laughs, but the priest still doesn’t turn around and Giriko realizes he  _really_  has him. “Wow, damn, you  _really_  want to.”

Justin finally pulls his hand back from the long drag of fingers across the smooth curve of the bike and hesitates for a moment.

“I’ll get a jacket,” he finally says before turning, and when he’s turned back around his face is coolly composed, controlled so it doesn’t flicker even when he glances at Giriko’s irrepressible grin. He does walk past a little too close, though, so his shoulder bumps the chainsaw’s arm, and Giriko chuckles as the blond disappears into the house.

He’s back a few minutes later, somewhat breathless and pink and plus the addition of both shoes and a jacket. Giriko’s leaning back against the bike, watching the entrance to the house, so when Justin emerges he has his smirk in place well before the blond actually closes with him.

“C’mon,” he says, waving an arm to gesture the other closer and turning towards the bike itself so he can swing a leg over. “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Mm,” Justin hums. “Don’t we need helmets or safety gear?”

Giriko half-turns from his position to raise an eyebrow at the blond. “Justin.” He grabs at the open edge of the other’s coat and pulls to illustrate. “Get on the damn bike.”

Justin’s composure cracks into a grin for a moment, delighted and reckless as the teenager he is, and he climbs onto the back of the motorcycle less-than-gracefully while Giriko mumbles, “Who the hell do you think you’re dating? Honestly, I’m a little offended you’d think I’d bother with anything reasonably safe.”

“I’m just not fond of the idea of dying,” Justin shoots back. His foot catches against Giriko’s spine, making the chainsaw grunt in pain as he gets his weight balanced. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still getting on, aren’t you?” Justin’s legs are around his hips, now, and Giriko’s relieved that the danger of getting kicked is past, but the weight behind him is all wrong and he barks a laugh before reaching back for one of Justin’s wrists. “You can’t just perch back there either, you’ll fall off or, worse, throw the balance off. Come  _forward_ , for fuck’s sake, it’s not like you’ve never touched me before.”

Justin offers a half-voiced protest as Giriko pulls him forward bodily, but then he hitches himself forward so his legs brace warm against Giriko’s. There’s a breath of hesitation -- bizarre, really, in the circumstances -- and then his hands come down on Giriko’s waist, curl gentle against the chainsaw’s shirt. Giriko half-turns his head so he can just see blond hair in his periphery. “Lean  _forward_ , Justin,” and he does, inexplicably stiff with awkwardness but pressed up warm all along Giriko’s back, and Giriko grins and kicks the bike forward.

Justin startles as the engine roars to life under them, presses in closer as they pick up a reasonable approximation of speed, but it still takes them all the way through the city streets to the outskirts of the town before the self-conscious tension bleeds out of his limbs. Giriko can feel the extra weight pulling oddly behind him, not quite in sync with the unit of Giriko-and-the-bike, and if he could make himself heard he would tell Justin to stop being a  _bitch_  and just lean  _forward_  already. But then he makes the turn out of town, onto the road leading out into the desert, and when they pick up speed Justin gasps. Giriko can feel the reaction, even if he can’t hear it, and then the blond leans forward and fits his body flush against Giriko’s, and he starts to laugh, bright with unadulterated delight so Giriko can hear catches of it even over the engine and feel the laughter rippling all up through Justin’s body.

The priest keeps giggling, sounding his age as Giriko rarely hears him, and the chainsaw wishes he could look back to see the blond’s expression but he can’t twist around enough, even if he didn’t need to keep his eyes on the road, and besides he can imagine just from that sound. Justin’s arms are all the way around him now, palms flat against Giriko’s chest, and every time the chainsaw shifts their weight Justin shifts with him, follows his lead like they’re a single unit.

The unity makes the hitch of Justin’s weight after nearly a half hour the more dramatic. It’s barely noticeable, just the priest rocking forward against Giriko’s back, but against the minutes of unbroken consistency it’s dramatic. Giriko knows he can’t be heard, is realizing he ought to have worked out some sort of signal for Justin that didn’t involve speaking  _before_  they were miles out down the road, and then Justin’s hands shift down. For a moment even Giriko is frightened by the idea of what Justin  _might_  be trying to do, but then the blond’s hands come up again and he breathes out in relief before realizing that there are fingers against his bare skin, now. The wind whipping past them is freezing, chill on the inch of skin exposed from where Justin has pulled his shirt up, but Giriko’s breathing hard and it has nothing at all to do with cold.

Justin’s fingers come up higher, the blond hitches forward again, and it’s only because Giriko’s half-expecting it that he doesn’t crash and kill them both when Justin’s mouth comes against the back of his neck. He  _does_  spit, “ _Fuck_ ,” into the wind, but the sound is lost to the speed of their travel and Justin remains blissfully unaware of their danger.

It only takes Giriko a few minutes to find the next available turn, and when he’s focused on getting them  _off_  the road as fast as possible it’s easier to ignore Justin grinding against his hips and licking along his hairline. Easier is nothing like easy, though, and by the time the chainsaw spots a detour and takes it he’s furious and panicked and  _achingly_  hard in his jeans.

He slows somewhat after the turn, takes them down the road another minute so they’re well clear of the main route, and then turns and brakes in one movement. He’s twisting towards Justin as he stops but Justin is half-off the bike as soon as they stop, maybe  _before_ , and Giriko opens his mouth to  _damn_  the priest for being an  _idiot_  and Justin’s mouth comes down on his.

Giriko nearly bites Justin’s tongue, it comes past his lips so fast while he’s still halfway through a word. The priest has got one leg up around Giriko’s hip and his hands fisted in Giriko’s hair and he’s  _gasping_ , panting for breath even while he kisses Giriko like his life depends on it, and Giriko is still angry but he’s hard, too, and this  _isn’t helping_. He shoves Justin back by his shoulders, enough so he can take a breath and growl, “You almost  _killed_  us you  _fucking_  idiot,” but Justin is whimpering and grabbing at his shirt and talking over him, “ _Fuck_  me Giriko, just  _hold still_  and I’ll  _ride_  you  _please_ ,” and that’s enough to cut off even Giriko’s righteous indignation.

“You are a  _fucking idiot_ ,” he says, but he’s fumbling, clumsy with haste, at the front of Justin’s jeans. “We don’t even have any  _lube_  and don’t fucking  _distract me when I’m driving_ , do you --”

Justin’s hand comes out of his pocket and he holds the bottle up, grinning like he’s singlehandedly invented sex. Giriko’s words fade off for a breath as he processes this new evidence, and then he gets Justin’s fly open and shifts his hands to shove at the waistband of the blond’s jeans.

“You fucking  _slut_ ,” Giriko says, but it comes out like a purr and Justin’s grin just goes wider even as he tries to kick both shoes off at once and almost falls. “When the  _fuck_  did you get this?”

“When I went back inside for my coat,” Justin answers with absolutely no trace of self-consciousness under the flush of desperate want over his cheeks. He manages to work his shoes free and wiggles out of his jeans; his gaze is fixed on Giriko’s face, entirely disregarding the potential, however minimal, of an unexpected audience, and he comes back in to press his mouth against the chainsaw’s before angling a leg up over the bike so he’s standing in front of Giriko instead of curled in behind him. Giriko reaches up to snatch the lube from the blond’s grip and Justin lets him, reaches down to the front of Giriko’s own pants with that damn heat still riding high across his cheekbones.

“You’re an idiot,” Giriko repeats, although some of the fire is gone. He pours lube across his fingers, letting Justin work at the fly of his pants alone, and reaches out with the hand still holding the bottle to pull the blond in closer. Justin comes perfectly willingly and Giriko keeps talking as he fits a hand between the other’s legs. “You were fucking  _distracting_  me, I could have  _crashed_  and killed us both.” He doesn’t start with one finger this time, sets two together and pushes up hard and inch into Justin’s ass, and the unexpected pressure makes the blond gasp and arch back until he nearly falls.

“Don’t  _ever_  do that again,” Giriko hisses, sliding in the rest of the way, and Justin is panting and nods in what Giriko takes as agreement. “I can’t  _fuck_  you if we’re  _dead_  can I?” He draws his fingers back, thrusts up again, and Justin whines and comes up on his toes, fingers clutching at Giriko’s shoulders to hold himself steady. “And that would be a  _damn_  shame.”

“Yes,” Justin gasps, “Yes, I won’t do it again,  _fuck_  Giriko I want --”

“What do you want?” Giriko asks, sliding his fingers free and reaching down to the half-open front of his jeans to finish what Justin started. “ _Tell_  me, Justin.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Justin says, and he reaches down to grab Giriko’s lube-slick hand and curl the fingers over the chainsaw’s cock. Giriko’s barely got his pants open, there’s a tangle of fabric and metal from the zipper nerve-wrackingly close to sensitive skin, but he rocks up against Justin’s hand around his own all the same. The lube is skin-warm from the both of them and slippery-smooth across his length, and he’s barely got a decent layer on before Justin hisses and rocks in close against his stomach.

“ _Enough,_  enough,” he says, and he’s got his legs up around Giriko’s waist and is holding himself up off Giriko’s shoulders, and he can’t possibly tell what he’s doing but after a moment of precarious balance and desperate movement they line up, and Justin slides himself down onto Giriko’s cock without anything like as much care as he usually takes. Justin hisses, sharp and actually pained, and Giriko flinches and tries to take his weight even though  _fuck_  Justin is all around him and he wasn’t  _ready_. But the priest drops his clinging hold on Giriko’s shoulder to grab at his wrist and he’s saying “No, no it’s good  _god_  don’t move me just --” and he shoves up partially leveraging off the bike and mostly off Giriko and drops back down again in nearly-a-fall, and Giriko groans and rocks up as Justin moans far back in his throat.

“Fuck  _fuck_  you feel  _amazing_ ,” Justin says, and wiggles back up although he can’t get any traction on the bike at all. His foot slips and he nearly falls entirely, taking Giriko with him, and Justin hisses in irritation and Giriko starts to laugh. The priest looks down sharply at him, but Giriko can’t stop, the amusement is pouring into and out of the deep satisfaction of having Justin tight around him, and after a moment Justin smiles himself.

“ _God_ ,” Giriko gasps, leaning in to press his forehead against Justin’s collarbones. “You’re crazy. Get off me.”

“What?” Justin starts to say, and Giriko can feel him going taut with hurt before the chainsaw grabs at his hip and digs his fingers in possessive-hard.

“We’re going to fall like this. Get off me and I’ll fuck you over the bike.”

All the air leaves Justin’s lungs in a gust and he is maneuvering his way up and off even while Giriko is laughing, “I  _thought_  you’d like that.” Then Justin is off and Giriko is swinging his leg up and over the body of the motorcycle as quick as Justin comes in over the seat, reaching out to brace himself with locked elbows on the frame.  _This_  is good, this is better, Giriko thinks even before he’s lined up, just from the jut of Justin’s tense shoulders under his shirt and coat and the way Giriko can get  _traction_  this way. He closes his hands around the blond’s hips, and lines himself up, and when he tugs backward Justin rocks his weight back and slides himself onto Giriko’s length, and this time they groan in satisfied unison.

The angle is  _much_  better like this, with Justin bracing himself over the bike and Giriko thrusting forward into him, and after a moment Giriko has his rhythm set and reaches down around to wrap his fingers around Justin’s length. The blond groans and arches his back, and Giriko hisses, “Don’t come on the bike,” and Justin chokes a laugh and manages, “I’ll try,” and that’s the best Giriko expects he can get out of him.

Justin  _does_  outlast Giriko, even if the effort is making his arms shake by the time Giriko’s pattern stutters out of rhythm. The chainsaw lets his hold go, ignoring Justin’s half-voiced whine of protest at the loss, in favor of bracing himself with both hands so he can thrust hard into the blond as the blinding burst of orgasm hits him. Justin is still shaking when he comes down from it, panting for air so Giriko can hear each shaky inhale, and it seems best at that point to pull out and turn the blond around before resuming his hold on Justin’s cock.

It proves to be a good choice. Giriko has his hand around Justin but has barely come down for a second stroke when Justin’s head goes back and he groans before his cock jerks in Giriko’s hand and he comes mostly over the front of his shirt and Giriko’s fingers.

Giriko waits until Justin is fully leaning back against the motorcycle and his weight is off his trembling arms before he lets go, shifts his hands to the sweaty skin under Justin’s shirt and comes in to breathe out against the corner of the blond’s mouth.

“You thinkin’ about that the whole time you were behind me?” Giriko asks, very softly.

Justin laughs and trembling fingers come up to fist in Giriko’s shirtfront. “Before. Like I said, I got the lube when I went inside.”

“Mmm.” Giriko rocks in against Justin’s body and the priest lets him, curves back so he’s pinned between the bike and the man in front of him. “Were you hard that whole time?”

Justin’s breath catches before he recollects himself enough for a breathy almost-laugh. “Didn’t you  _notice_? I was pressed up right against your back.”

“Not until you started grinding against me.” Giriko sighs into Justin’s hair. “ _Don’t_  do that again, by the way. I really did almost crash.”

“Okay.” Justin sounds faintly contrite, but his next words have resumed an edge of teasing. “Can we do this again?”

“Without the distraction while driving?” Giriko pauses to pretend to consider. Then he leans in and bites at the edge of Justin’s ear. “ _Hell_  yes.”


End file.
